


One by one we'll fall 'til one is left with all

by VenetaPsi



Category: Banana Bus Squad, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Minecraft but if minecraft was a real fantasy world and all the bbs members lived in it" AU, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Minecraft Fantasy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blacksmithing, Flower Language, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minecraft, Minor Character Death, More characters to come, More parts to come, Pillagers, Rebuilding, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, villagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: Then the sky lit up, ablaze with orange light, and more yells and screams and shrieks merged with the deafening crackle of fire, and Tyler ran. The attackers swarmed the village, and the entire event was seen only through the haze of tunnel vision and fear- painted faces and crossbows and flames.There was blood everywhere, stampeding animals and people begging for their lives, and someone grabbed Tyler’s arm; there was pain worse than any burn that sliced through his gut and then Tyler was stumbling through grass and across stone and he was lying on his back in nothing but blackness. In the distance he could hear screaming and explosions; echoey and warped. Pain, and blood on his hands, and he couldn’t see anything-
Relationships: SMii7Y/Tyler | I AM WILDCAT
Comments: 7
Kudos: 21





	One by one we'll fall 'til one is left with all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShadowDragon519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowDragon519/gifts), [Colourspaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourspaz/gifts).

> Gifted to ShadowDragon519 for the brilliant support of the idea of Tyler as a blacksmith that made this story come into fruition, and to Colourspaz for receiving the original draft of this in texts at 11:30 at night.

The rhythmic ringing of metal on metal shattered the stillness; clear and loud and sharp. Solid steel smashed down against glowing, illuminated orange with each steady downward strike of the hammer. As the light faded, the man grasped one darker, cooler end with a rag covered hand and lifted the metal up, swinging it around and sliding it deep into the vibrant coals of the blast furnace behind him. 

Tyler watched calmly as color returned to the cooling strip of iron, watchful that it did not overheat. The blazing warmth of the furnace and the exhaustion in his arm from using the heavy hammer was familiar; comforting almost. Therapeutic. It was very satisfying to smash metal together. 

The brunet glanced up at the sound of horses clopping by, wiping sweat from his brow and streaking coal across his cheek as he watched a cart amble by, leaning up against the wall and watching curiously both the large, tired animals and the small, spiny man atop the cart, glancing around with mild disgust. 

Tyler wrinkled his nose at the guy, and turned away. He hated city dwellers; too stuck up to live in the ‘filth’ that was the outer villages. He took a particularly vengeful strike at what was supposed to end up a sword. Sure, maybe his life wasn’t as interesting as the constant bustle and trade and _excitement_ that was the large, inner cities of the region; nestled down in the wide, mineral-rich valleys. Still, he liked his village. Loved it even, it was a place he well and truly considered home. 

From the rough cobblestones of the square and the trampled dirt roads spreading outwards, to the small log huts and the larger stores and the chapel with its beautiful stained glass, Tyler thought the village had its own sort of rugged appeal that the crowded, dirty cities would never compare to. He liked being able to breath in fresh air instead of the reek of manure and alcohol.

Furthermore, he loved his friends. Be it the tall man with a heavy accent who lived on a farm on the outskirts of town with his dogs, or the dark-haired, quieter man who ran an apothecary/pyrotechnics shop in the center of the town marketplace, Tyler knew for a fact that they made the village for him with their unique (and sometimes infuriating) personalities. 

He gave the traveler’s back another dirty look before plunging his sword into a nearby bucket of water; relishing in the satisfying hiss of steam that filled the air, caused the water to bubble. After a few seconds, he lifted the hunk of iron up, placing it against his palm and skimming the pad of his thumb along the edge as he inspected it carefully. He ‘swished’ it back and forth a few times, testing the balance and weight. 

Satisfied, he placed the unsharpened-sword down on a nearby wooden table, unwrapping the worn, coal coated rags from his hands that had protected him from burns. Tossing them beside the weapon, Tyler skimmed the horizon from the porch of his house, where his furnace and grindstone sat below a roofed outcropping. The sky was cloudy and overcast, the sinking afternoon sun poking through the occasional gap in the grey. 

In the distance, the blacksmith could hear the sounds of voices chattering, of animals huffing or bleating. He sunk against one of the roof’s supporting poles, taking deep breaths through his nose and watching the sky. The air was cool, wrapping around him and ruffling his hair and apron slightly, raising goosebumps on his arms. 

With one last glance at the dark sky, Tyler stepped inside. 

The tolling of a bell came suddenly; clashing and ringing with ferocity, sending a bolt of fear straight down Tyler’s spine as he sat up with a jolt, back aching from where he’d passed out leaning over his table. Someone screamed in the distance, an explosion rumbled, and Tyler was out of his chair and sprinting towards the door in seconds. With a sudden chilling silence, the bell stopped. 

The air was frigid and pitch black when Tyler burst out of his house, skidding slightly on the stone foundation as he stared around, head swiveling. Through the gaps in houses and trees he could see the light of torches, _many_ torches, and the sound of shouting and laughter and jeering. Someone streaked by to Tyler’s left, vanished between two houses and sprinted in the direction of the forest. 

The blacksmith’s attention was pulled back as another scream suddenly split the air; high pitched and young, like a child, and quickly followed by another; low and furious and masculine. 

Then the sky lit up, ablaze with orange light, and more yells and screams and shrieks merged with the deafening crackle of fire, and Tyler ran. The attackers swarmed the village, and the entire event was seen only through the haze of tunnel vision and fear- painted faces and crossbows and flames. 

There was blood everywhere, stampeding animals and people begging for their lives, and someone grabbed Tyler’s arm; there was pain worse than any burn that sliced through his gut and then Tyler was stumbling through grass and across stone and he was lying on his back in nothing but blackness. In the distance he could hear screaming and explosions; echoey and warped. Pain, and blood on his hands, and he _couldn’t see anything-_

His own shaky breaths echoed alongside the rhythmic dripping of water. The ground was cold and stone and wet with blood under his fingertips. 

His heart hurt.

Eventually, the lightless world went silent.

Tyler blinked awake with a significant amount of effort; exhausted with purely fluttering his eyelashes open. His entire body ached, felt numb in a way that couldn’t have been good, and the ground was sticky and warm below his hands. 

It was agony to sit up, and he paused on his side, a pained whimper escaping his lips as jagged hyperventilating scraped his throat raw and strained his chest, as his gut screamed in protest. 

His vision was hazy when he finally stumbled to his feet, barely processing the cave around him that was slightly illuminated from a patch of light further ahead. His hearing was distorted, and his breathing and footfalls seemed to double in volume as he stumbled ahead, clutching at the rocky walls of the tunnel for support. 

For a moment he was blinded upon reaching the entrance to the cave, blinking away the bright light of morning. Then he focused in on the wasteland that lay before him. He was only a hundred yards or so from what used to be his village, what now stood as a smoldering wreckage. Buildings were burned to cinders, logs toppled and stones strewn out across blackened grass. Farms were trampled and ripped to shreds, and banners and lights hung as tattered rags and piles of crushed glass. 

Something burned inside him, the unquenchable need to either scream or sob, and he stumbled weakly as his vision honed in on the lone figure standing in the center of the destruction, silhouetted and small and strikingly alive. 

Tyler must’ve screamed something, for the figure looked up at him and the blacksmith's throat had begun to burn. There were tears on his cheeks and his words must’ve been either rage or sorrow, but Tyler wasn’t entirely sure which had poured through his tiny, torn filter. 

Sparkles washed across the edges of his vision, and Tyler’s legs buckled, sending him crumpling to the dirt and grass as blood loss drained his energy. There was a bird chirping somewhere. 

His vision and consciousness flickered for an unknown period of time, and Tyler was vaguely aware of running footsteps and then hands hooking under his arms and half-dragging him towards the ruins. He saw glimpses of a small half-tent made of salvaged canvas and mostly untouched logs, and the sensation of someone rolling him over alongside a rough wooden bowl of water being pushed to his lips. 

Said someone mumbled to themselves. 

When Tyler fully awoke, managed to hold himself conscious without slipping under once more, he found himself staring up at white, heavy cloth, with the texture of leather and wool blanket below him. He raised his head slightly, gaze sweeping over his lower abdomen that was free of clothes, but wrapped securely in bandages that had yet to be stained red. He gingerly poked at the area with shaky fingertips, and winced at the bolt of pain that followed a line from his right waist down to just below his left hip. 

A mild grunt from his left caused Tyler’s head to swing around, his focus falling on the figure from before who was maybe twenty feet away, crouched at the side of what used to be a vegetable farm. Backlit by the sun as he was, Tyler couldn’t make out many of the man’s features other then he was significantly shorter than Tyler himself, (which didn’t mean much), and that he was of a rather slender, though strong build. Eventually the man glanced over, picked up the leather pouch at his side he’d been placing any salvageable crops into, and walked over towards Tyler hesitantly. His movements were confident, though guarded; as though he was weary of Tyler potentially lashing out. 

Something close to rage flashed through Tyler’s chest, and he surged upwards into a sitting position, biting his tongue to fight through the sudden wave of sharp pain. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spit, and the man watched Tyler silently for a moment before turning away, ignoring him in favor of tucking his bag alongside several others in the corner of the small tent. 

Exhaustion crept up in Tyler’s heart, and his gaze swept over what small part of the village he could see, taking in the charred ruins and broken structures. 

“What happened?” He whispered, unable to stop the broken edge from slipping into his voice, the fury draining out of his system as all fight dissolved into grief. 

This time, the man paused, setting his pack down and turning to face the injured blacksmith, still shadowed by the tent’s shade. 

“I’m not sure,” He spoke quietly, voice carefully measured and his gaze trained on Tyler curiously. 

“Where there-” The words caught in Tyler’s throat, painful. “Where there any other survivors?”

Again, the man hesitated, before shaking his head gently and telling Tyler again that he didn’t know. 

“From my understanding, everyone either ran in different directions, or hid in buildings. You may find bodies, if you look.” His voice was gentle, an attempt to soften the blow, but Tyler reeled anyways, blinking back sudden tears and a horrible pressure in his chest. 

The man rose to a crouch and backed out of the tent, and Tyler watched through watery eyes as he straightened and finally stepped into visible lighting. His first thought was that the man looked far too innocent and young to be standing amongst the rubble of a raid. The second thing the blacksmith noticed was the sturdy, well crafted, crystal-embedded sword that hung from the man’s hip, and the tension in his posture that betrayed a constant preparation for battle, and Tyler became instantly weary. 

He sunk back against the pelts below him as the man respectfully took his leave, not commenting on the streaks of tears that stained Tyler’s cheeks. 

He felt numb, hearing the sounds of boots on gravel slowly fade away. 

For the next three days, the two coexisted relatively peacefully. Tyler spent most of his time sleeping and recovering, really only rousing when the man crouched by his side and shook him awake gently to get him to drink water, or to try and eat some vegetables mixed together and mashed into a paste. During his moments of awareness, Tyler watched the man build them a means of survival from the remnants of the village; scavenging, crafting and foraging like it was what he’d done his entire life. 

Tyler still had no inkling as to who the man was, though he was certain the man wasn’t a former member of the village. In fact, he didn’t even know his name. The man didn’t know Tyler either, though, and so somehow it balanced out, and worked. 

On the fourth day, Tyler managed to get himself up onto his feet, and stay that way, ignoring the faint shaking of his limbs in favor of the satisfaction of being able to simply walk again, even if his left arm was curled protectively around his middle and he winced with every step taken. 

It was midday when he stumbled into the village square, reeling from the utter destruction, and saw a corpse sprawled in the rubble; pale and limp and ringed with browned blood. 

That’s how the man found him, crouched the dirt and dust, trembling and crying and staring in horrified entrancement like he’d lost a family member. Tyler barely remembered a thing of the encounter beyond that image of the corpse and mind numbing _grief_ except for the man guiding him to his feet and back to their shelter. He was murmuring something soothing and low in a foreign language, lowering Tyler back onto the pelts and sitting at his side with his strange words until eventually the tears dried up and the blacksmith fell down into a drowsy doze. His last memory was a warm figure seated at his side, and gentle fingers on his shoulder pressing down lightly, grounding him. 

As another week passed, Tyler steadily recovered. The man had replanted a farm's worth of crops that had begun to sprout, and had effectively repaired a house on the edge of town into a livable state. They left the less-defendable tent for the building soon afterward, large enough for them each to have a room and a proper bed, and an area to cook and clean without the risk of mobs attacking. 

The man refused to let Tyler help him with any of the building or crop minding no matter how many times the blacksmith asked, probably for the wiser. Still, that didn’t stop Tyler from growing frustrated; itchy with a desperation to do something productive, even if it was painful.

More than once, the two bickered back and forth over Tyler’s physical state. The arguments ended rather dramatically when the man finally gave him a rather impressive glower and said he was not about to have Tyler reopen his wound, that the blacksmith was lucky to be alive at all. 

That effectively shut Tyler up. 

More time flew by, and Tyler’s anxiety worsened with each time he fully took in the broken remnants of his previous life. As a result, he woke almost every night because of nightmares clearly violent enough to rouse his housemate, who after the first few nights were shattered by Tyler’s screams, was always sitting at his side with that gentle foreign tongue to sooth him.

One particularly bad night, they finally introduced themselves to each other. The man laid beside the blacksmith and they shared the covers because Tyler wouldn’t stop _shaking,_ he was so _cold._

The man’s name was Smitty.

The next day, the silence was interrupted by the sudden sound of barking and clattering paws and excessive panting. Tyler practically ran out of the house, Smitty trailing behind, with a more wary and hesitant expression. 

Several of the village’s dogs had returned, three to be exact, and Tyler launched himself at them, halfway to tears, and they jumped at him in equal joy, licking his face and putting their wet noses against his hands and chin. 

The blacksmith spent the rest of the day running around and playing with the dogs, much to their delight alongside his own. Smitty reprimended him half-heartedly about his injuries, but let the subject drop rather quickly when for the first time, Tyler well and truly smiled at him; bright and joyful, because this was an element of his home that was alive and well, and he was so fucking happy. 

Smitty didn’t push very hard, and more often than not Tyler caught him watching curiously, even so much as huffing an almost laugh when Tyler threw a stick particularly far and all three dogs pounced on it in unison, butting heads with one another comically. 

Tyler watched in pleased, warm amusement as the tired out dogs converged on Smitty that evening and immediately took a liking to him. They continued to follow the man around for hours and even more the next day, nudging his legs affectionately when Smitty would idly reach down and scratch their heads. 

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Tyler fully healed, and demanded to help with the building process. Eventually, Smitty conceded, and their little corner of refurbished village began to grow at twice the speed, rendering multiple farms and coops usable. Even though two more houses were decidedly livable, neither man made any effort to move out of their shared residence. It became something never mentioned, simply absorbed into their life and taken as fact. 

Slowly, Smitty’s walls crumbled, and he began to open up to Tyler about his life as an adventurer; how he traveled from town to town. How he’d been following the pillagers, and found their village in ruins. At some point along the line, the ruins were no longer what they had been, had become _theirs._

One night they fixed a light; melted down glass in a rudimentary furnace and used a small amount of coal and linen to create a burning lantern that they hung from a post. For several minutes they stood under it’s golden glow, staring up silently at the creation and the swarm of gnats that repeatedly ran themselves into the flames. 

On a sudden whim, Tyler told Smitty about his previous life, about Evan and David. At first words were painful; sharp as glass and ripping up his throat. That night he was plagued by nightmares worse than he’d ever experienced before, ones that came back every night he spoke of his friends. 

Over time, the sharp needle pricking in his heart faded, and the words escaped without restraint; sometimes a remark about the dogs that turned into a reference to Nogla, or on multiple occasions him pointing out how something silly or humorous Smitty had done reminded him of Evan. 

Over time, Tyler was eventually able to _breathe_ when he spoke their names. Smitty was endlessly patient with him, though firm, and he pushed Tyler to talk even when the blacksmith didn’t want to; nagged him when Tyler lashed out with words because he was in pain, and in the end Tyler was grateful, because it helped to have someone hear the internal monologue that constantly dragged him down. 

One night after they had built half of a wooden door, both of them covered in sawdust and sweat, Tyler found himself asking Smitty about his past. 

For a moment the man remained silent, considering the question. Then Smitty told him about John; told him about a hilarious, apathetic brunet who had been his childhood best friend. 

Then quieter, more subdued, Smitty told him about the raid on their home city, and how he saw John get pushed off the dam, plummeting to the river fifty feet below. Smitty’s face stayed very carefully neutral throughout his story, but a deep set pain in his eyes betrayed how he actually felt. Tyler’s hand met his across the smooth wood; Smitty’s fingers calloused and work-worn in Tyler’s large, warm palm. Smitty squeezed his hand lightly in return, and gave him a quick smile, a flicker of lips turned up. 

For the first time, Tyler awoke to the the other’s screams, and not his own. He raced across the house as chills shot down his spine, because he’d never heard Smitty sound like that; screaming, _begging,_ voice wracked with grief and desperation and- 

Tyler burst into the room and reached the bed in seconds, already holding the man around his shoulders when Smitty sat bolt upright, trembling and sucking in air like he’d been strangled. His hands grasped the front of Tyler’s tunic, and for the first time it hit the blacksmith that he had no idea what to do, how to comfort someone. 

He held the sobbing brunet, pulled him into his chest and stroked his hair awkwardly until the horrible, pained crying lessened to a sniffle and his breathing evened out. Smitty didn’t release him, and so Tyler stayed, because the other man clearly needed the company. They passed out together, holding one another close and fighting back the coldness of their pasts with the presence of something warm and solid. 

It became easier to make it through the night if they shared a bed and body heat, if they were right there to wake the other as soon as a nightmare began to claim them. Within a couple days, one bed held twice as many blankets and pillows, the other reduced to raw sheets and bare straw. 

The next morning, they made the graveyard; carefully cut stone and built fencing, and then they sought out the bodies from the house they’d placed them in. They lowered them one by one into the ground without conversation, working silently, and when they were all done, Tyler took a chisel and hammer and carved inscriptions into every headstone. He worked until the sun sank, until it became too dark to read his own words, and Smitty greeted with a gentle embrace when he returned to their house, expression blank and emotions numb. 

They planted wildflowers in the graveyard, transferred vines and moss from nearby buildings, and left the vegetation to thrive on its own. It felt symbolic, to let nature have its beautiful claim over the resting spot of the dead. 

Specifically planted in front of one grave was a collection of purple and gold flowers; golden dandelions and the bright yellow of tulips stuck high above small, purple clusters of crocuses. David’s. 

The other was ringed in a blend of reds and purples, almost like a magical flame; vibrant red poppies, delicate hibiscus roses and the dark purple-blue of violets below.

Smitty watched silently as Tyler chose the flowers with great care, placing them specifically around his friends’ tombstones, nestling red and purple against Evan’s. 

He thought perhaps they might live on somehow, in the gentle blossoms. 

Another month passed, and slowly, ever so slowly, quiet nights grew more frequent than those stricken with night terrors; laughter became more of a commonplace in their conversations then the grief and sorrow that had dominated before. 

It felt rewarding, to rebuild the village. Purposeful, like they were doing something important. It made Tyler feel useful to take a broken building, and in a few days time, have it mostly standing. One day he asked Smitty why _he_ was rebuilding, asked why he had stayed after finding the village destroyed. 

“I think John would’ve liked this place,” Smitty responded softly, a small smile settling onto his features. His tone held only fondness and nostalgia, devoid of pain for the first time since Tyler had heard John’s name. He smiled back. 

Slowly they both healed, even though Tyler’s wounds have long since vanished, leaving only a scar behind. Multiple times Tyler would catch Smitty tracing the line with his finger as they lay in bed, an unreadable expression on his face. The one time Tyler dared to ask, Smitty looked up at him and smiled slightly; bittersweet. 

“I mostly stayed to rebuild because I couldn’t leave you to die.”

Something caught in Tyler’s throat, halting any response, but Smitty didn’t seem to want one. It seemed so natural, the way they fell asleep with their hands intertwined on Tyler’s stomach, Smitty laying on his side and Tyler slumped on his back. 

They both awoke when the sun rose, blinked away sleep and looked at one another, confused, because they both slept soundly through the entire night. 

One day the sun had begun to set, painting the sky in a brillant, luminescent orange. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, surrounded by half-sawed logs and tools, and Smitty glanced first at the horizon, then at Tyler, lips stretched in a joyful and carefree grin, and Tyler couldn’t help himself. 

He reached out, hand catching Smitty’s bicep, and he pulled the shorter closer, pressed their lips together; tried to express how beautiful he truly thought Smitty was, despite his vocabulary falling short.

Smitty cupped his face with both of his palms, and when Tyler pulled back, he smiled up at the taller softly; leaned into him and let their bodies press together, warm and solid. 

“We’re gonna be alright,” He whispered softly, and for once, Tyler agreed with him. His nose dropped into Smitty’s hair, and he smelled like metal and heat and wood and campfire. He squeezed a little tighter, and Smitty hugged him back, his arms slipping from Tyler’s face to around his neck. 

“Yeah. We are.” 

_End Part One_

**Author's Note:**

> Flower Language [Graves]:
> 
> (David)  
Crocus - Cheerfulness  
Dandelion - Faithfulness, Happiness  
Tulip (Yellow) - There's Sunshine in Your Smile  
—  
(Evan)  
Poppy (General) - Eternal Sleep, Oblivion, Imagination  
Rose (Hibiscus) - Delicate Beauty  
Violet - Modesty


End file.
